


Eddie, my love

by concon_man



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Character Death, Dead Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Hallucinations, I Love Eddie Kaspbrak, I kinda suck too, I wrote this in one single day so please be nice, I'm Sorry, It kinda sucks but yanno, M/M, Never let me anywhere near a word again, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Songfic, but so am I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:00:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21821833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concon_man/pseuds/concon_man
Summary: Richie Tozier lost the love of his life. Time to bring him back.ORRichie's mental state took a toll after Eddie's death and, after a year, he couldn't take it anymore. The restless nights, the headaches, the night terrors. It must come to an end, one way or the other. This time, to the tune of "Eddie My Love" (Remastered) by The Chordettes!
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Kudos: 29





	Eddie, my love

**Author's Note:**

> hewwo  
> it's been a minute  
> I didn't have school today and my last day of school is literally tomorrow so I pulled this quick thing out of my ass (lies, I've been thinking about this for weeks). It was either this or me writing about Richie wearing a slutty santa dress for the Losers' reunion on Christmas. Now, I might just write about that later, as a Christmas gift to myself but as of now? Here, have this.  
> Serious talk now. TRIGGER WARNINGS: Gore, sorta detailed murder, hallucinations, borderline hysteria on Richie's part.

“ _Eddie my love, I love you so,_ ”

The skies burned an ethereal and scarlet redness, and Richie Tozier could not have been more at peace.

“ _How I've wanted for you,_

_You'll never know._ ”

He could feel laughter bubbling up his throat, really.

Like an itch, a threat, a hand around his neck and _pressure_.

It made him light-headed. His sunken eyes and his poorly-torn hair made him look a tad bit much like a mad scientist, he thought.

His mouth slit, a grin. His ears, ringing. _Blood_.

“ _Please Eddie, don't make me wait too long_

_(Oh Eddie, Eddie, I love you so)._ ”

His hand faltered and there was a muted sound characteristic of steel meeting gravel. His fingers twitched, bloodied and bruised.

Quietly, he picked the shovel back up with his free hand.

“ _Eddie please write_

_Just one line._ ”

The doorbell rang.

An unexpecting face opened the door.

Her mouth was moving, but all Richie could hear was _ringing_.

The woman moved back, hands trembling.

Or, maybe, Richie was the one trembling. The difference had been lost along the way.

With a swift lunge, she was on the floor, wired phone having been dropped beside her.

Who even used landlines anymore? It’s the 21st century. Richie hadn’t seen one of these since his grandmother passed.

  
“ _Tell me your love is_

_Still only mine._ ”

He carefully set the body down and gripped the shovel with both hands. The large woman crawled backwards and shouted jarringly. Richie’s nerves were spiking at the shrill sound and he decided he wanted it to stop. She needed to be stopped. _It_ needed to be stopped.

Richie barked out a laughter by accident as his arms slowly sat just above his head...

And then came down, powered by the impulse.

Her head cracked under the pressure, almost in slow motion. Her blood splattered on his face and suddenly he felt downright _disgusting_. His arms jerked but he kept a steady hold on the weapon. He spat out the blood on her face, watching her eyes rolling to unconsciousness. The blood on his lips was not hers.

He was just about to spit on her face again when he was overcome with a sinking sensation in his throat.

He gagged.

He giggled.

He threw up the raw flesh, tears blurring his eyesight.

  
“ _Please Eddie, don't make me wait too long._ ”

The strength faded from his hands and the shovel slipped from his foreign fingers.

An aborted laugh thundered through the dead-silent house.

He dropped to his knees and sobbed, crawling closer to Myra’s dead body. His smile was perverted and nauseating, but that was okay.

He didn’t have to look at himself anymore.

The deed was done, and there needn’t be any moaning about it, he thought.

His hand stumbled its way towards the woman’s face and his index and middle fingers dropped with force, half unintended.

His dirty, overgrown fingernails penetrated the globe of her eye easily, relishing in the squelching sound that accompanied.

He pushed further down, and blood followed.

His fingers almost seemed to be sucked in by the organ, velvet softness giving out under pressure.

With one final push, he started pulling out.

His other hand came to aid so that the eye wouldn’t leave its socket.

He stood on shaky knees.

“ _You left me last September_

_Since that time, I’ve been so alone._ ”

He wiped his hands on the woman’s blouse and picked the shovel back up.

His head swayed and he caught sight of a framed picture.

He couldn’t help himself.

He dragged his feet towards the offending object and yanked it from its spot on top of the fireplace. _A classic_.

He hummed a low tune as he observed the photograph.

His Eddie.

At first sight, you could see how young he was. Fresh out of college, as far as Richie was concerned. But when you looked closely, you could _see it_. A yellow smile, the one he’d perfected. Skinny arm around his mother. Not his mother, but close enough. You could see the wrinkles already forming on his forehead, from years of forcing out the same smile. Richie let his mind wander for a while.

How unfair it all was.

Eddie didn’t deserve any of this. Richie could’ve done so much more for him. Richie could’ve saved him. And they could have lived together in peace, away from his mother, Derry, the Losers, all of it. Someplace deep in the woods, Eddie would’ve liked it. A small cabin, a small bed, but just enough. Richie could envision it so perfectly. He clutched the frame to his chest for a spare second and wept for what could’ve been.

He raised the frame to his face and pressed his lips against Eddie’s form, leaving behind a smudge of blood and dirt. He placed it back.

“ _Now all I do is wish and wait for you,_

_Eddie, since you’ve been gone._ ”

He shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts.

Walked up to the woman’s body and rested the sharp tip of the shovel against her neck.

A smile.

He leaned on the weapon and looked away.

Could’ve almost mistaken it for an accident.

The way he looked off to the distance, so uninterested. Then he looked over his shoulder, at Eddie and _no_. It was no accident.

The shovel was left forgotten on the floor, fallen.

He carefully circled his vomit, on the floor, and picked up the first body. Heavier than he looked. But Richie had carried him all the way here, he could climb some stairs.

Richie had half a mind to shut the front door, the dead of night hid his sins.

“ _Eddie my love, I'm sinking fast,_ ”

Carrying someone for half a block seemed like child’s play after having carried that same someone up a flight of stairs.

He’d easily found the main bedroom.

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it sure wasn’t this; the windows were closed halfway, and the mosquito net had pieces torn off. The light blue curtains were transparent from use. The bed was set right beneath the windows. It was a very large bed – Cali-king sized. Beige covers were barely visible under the mess of clothes thrown haphazardly on it. It almost made Richie angry.

The floor was carpeted, matching the bed in both color and…ornaments. Richie kicked a lone bra that sat by the entrance to the side, making a face. The wardrobe sat on the left side of the bed, open. It was filled to a brim. The clothes in the wardrobe were all mangled and sat in piles. Richie’s blood boiled. This is not what his Eddie would’ve wanted. It was all the work of that woman. His breath came out in short puffs. He turned and stepped outside the room. The hall leading to the bedroom was clean, and that’s where he set Eddie. He straightened him out, as much as he could, before getting to work on the bedroom.

He didn’t have much time.

His hands trembled in anger, and he furiously gripped the clothes from the bed and the floor and threw them out the window. He shut the wardrobe door. He wiped down the bed covers and the curtains with his bare hands. He shut the window.

He went back for Eddie.

  
“ _The very next day might be my last._  
 _Please, Eddie, don't make me wait too long,_ ”

He laid him down on the bed, carefully. The right side.

For once, he was grateful for _It_.

You see, _no one who dies in Derry ever really dies_.

One year had passed since Eddie’s presumed death.

But here he was.

His body remained just as Richie remembered it. His face, unblemished. His chest, a pale torso, a small silhouette.

He was perfect.

Richie took his shoes off, then his socks.

Took his jacket off.

Swiped a thumb over his bottom lip and brushed his hair.

Smiled.

The bed creaked softly when he leaned on it with his knee.

He laid himself beside Eddie.

Removed his glasses and put them on the bedside table.

Stretched his arms above his neck, cracked his knuckles and sighed contently.

Richie turned on his side to face Eddie. He reached for his face and left his hand there. The two of them barely occupied half the bed.

“ _Oh Eddie, Eddie I love you so,_

_Eddie my love,_ ”

He closed his eyes and when he awoke, felt more refreshed than ever. He hadn’t been sleeping well without his Eddie, you see? The past year had been hellish, he could admit that now. But his love was here now. He woke to a kiss on the cheek and met Eddie’s eyes so peacefully, so naturally, that, to an outsider, it may have seemed like they’d done this their entire lives. That’s a nice thought. Living with Eddie, forever. His hands cradled Eddie’s cheeks and he could’ve sworn he heard a whispered “I love you” before closing the distance between his lips. They parted but leaned their foreheads together. And it was almost as if Eddie could read his mind. And it was almost perfect.

And they fell into a deep slumber in each other’s arms, and finally, Richie could say he’d been happy for once in his life.

Laying next to Eddie, his love.

Eddie laying next to him.

Forever.

“ _Oh Eddie, Eddie I love you so,_

_Eddie my love, I love you so._ ”

The very next day all the newspapers had the same front-page photograph, taken by a brave journalist. And all the newspapers shared similar headlines. And they all spoke about the once-famous comedian Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier and how he brutally assassinated Myra Kaspbrak on a late afternoon with a shovel. How he’d found and desecrated the remains of Eddie Kaspbrak, bones joined by thin and delicate strings of flesh. How the Dantesque scene had been planned entirely by Tozier. Somehow, all the newspapers failed to mention Richie’s clear love for Eddie, and how close the two bodies were on the morning they were found; a pale and cold Richie Tozier with his arms around the bones of Edward Kaspbrak, almost in a protective fashion. They failed to see it for what it truly was; a crime of passion.

The newspapers glossed over their love, but Richie wouldn’t have minded.

They were at peace, at last.

And the sky was scarlet nevermore.

**Author's Note:**

> ok ok so  
> hear me out  
> my girlfriend said I could


End file.
